The Dead and the Gone
by JoshN8er
Summary: Lucatiel meets a strange paladin while searching for her brother. She soon learns that this man is supposed to be the next Monarch. Will he prove to be the hero everyone claims him to be or is he simply a man haunted by his immortality? Rated M for Violence, Blood, Gore, etc.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing...**

* * *

 **No-Man's Wharf**

A woman leaned against the wall of a dark cave. The only light came from a small fire just a few feet from where she rested. She closed her eyes to gather her thoughts, she hated how clouded her mind felt now. This curse gnawed at the edge of her memories, just far enough out to not hinder her in battle, but close enough to rob her of any peace while she slept. She, in her time in this cursed land of Drangleic, had created a pattern she would follow. An exercise of sorts, she would start at the back of her thoughts and work forward. She would recall the furthest memory she could and proceed to the present. It wasn't a perfect strategy, but it helped her sleep at night… sometimes.

As she began her nightly routine, another undead stumbled into her vicinity. She opened her eyes and stared at the stranger through the silver mask she wore. He didn't seem to be a Hollow, an undead who had forever lost themselves to the curse. Although, he did move slowly, as if to conserve every ounce of energy he could. He walked with a limp, blood soaked the area of his clothing he held with one hand, the other clung tightly to a broken weapon he used as a walking stick. He inched closer to the bonfire, moving to a desperate rhythm. A step with his good foot, followed by the dragging of his bum leg, ending with the tap of his stick.

Step. Drag. Tap.

Step. Drag. Tap.

She almost felt pity for him but she remained still, trying to merge herself into the wall behind her. The only movement she made was strengthening the grip she had on her own arms, which were wrapped tightly across her chest. She had seen this trick far too many times to be fooled, pretend to be more injured than you are, and wait for someone gullible to assist. Once their guard was down, ram a knife in their gut, steal what's valuable and run before the guilt sets in. Any moment now he would beg for help, just like all the rest. But the man simply removed his helmet, dropped it to the ground and kept limping, moving solely on what little willpower he had left in his withered body. A few moments passed by, and when he put his weight on the walking stick to step forward it slipped from underneath him. In no less than a heartbeat he laid face down in the mud. The woman's eyes widened ever so slightly, if this was a con he was sticking to it until the very end.

He looked up toward the fire, he was so close now, only ten feet or so. He reached out with his right arm, and dragged his tired form closer. He was losing consciousness. He fought back the weight if his eyelids with all his might. He just needed to touch the flame, that's all. He could live that much longer, right? He had to. He forced his left arm up, straining to feel the dancing tongues of heat, his vision blurred. His eyes slowly drooped shut when he felt his feet grow cold, then his knees, his entire bottom half was now immobile and lifeless. His head jerked back in panic with his eyes wide open when he felt something take hold of his arm. He made out a gloved hand wrapped around his wrist with an iron grip. He followed the hand to an arm, an arm to a shoulder, shoulder to neck, neck to… mask? Whoever this was wore a mask, which is never promising. He didn't have the energy to reach his blade much less swing it, so he waited to see what this figure would do with him as he lay helpless.

This went against almost every rule she had laid for herself but she could not stand it any longer, she took hold of the stranger and dragged him to the bonfire. She dropped his hand in the ashes, knowing that was his goal. Now, whether he lived or died, this is where he would wake in a few hours. She returned to her wall and rest against it once more. She closed her eyes and willed herself into a half sleep so that she may rest but still keep watch over her company, for she did not trust him yet.

The woman woke to a strange aroma in the air, almost sweet? She scanned the area before her to see the stranger sitting by the fire with a glass jar in one hand and a ladle in the other, dipping a mysterious liquid out of a pot that rest in the flames. He looked over at her and set a broken smile on his face, he exhaled sharply then returned to his business, the expression never leaving his face. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Would you-" he began.

"Save it, I don't know you, you don't know me, and it is better that way. We're not friends," she interrupted.

"-Like some tea?" he continued as if she had not spoken at all. He stood from his place at the fire and crossed the room to where she rest. He extended his left hand, offering her the jar he had just filled.

"My name is Rourke," he stated simply, never losing his smile.

"I didn't ask" she responded, remaining motionless.

"I didn't expect you to," he smiled. The man pulled the jar he offered back to his lips, took a sip and swallowed, as if to say _'This isn't poisoned'_. "But it is typically common curtesy to give one's name before asking for another's, is it not?" He offered the container once more.

The woman reached out and gently took the drink from this strange man called 'Rourke'. She brought it close to her nose and took a whiff. It smelled of honey and dried herbs. She lifted her mask to have a sip. She immediately coughed, and almost dropped the glass, the 'tea' wasn't horrible but it was not good by any stretch of the imagination, not to mention strong. Her reaction earned a short chuckle from Rourke, who returned to his seat by the bonfire. After a second or two she felt a rush of energy, and found herself drawn back to having another sip.

"What is this made of?" she asked.

"Green Blossom leaves; it's supposed to help with stamina and recovery time, good for exhaustion," he responded while taking a drink of his own glass. "Mix it with a little honey to take out the bite, and you get something decent, still it's an acquired taste," he finished the sentence with another short laugh.

"You're quite the strange one," she stated plainly, "I don't meet too many sane undead here,"

The woman moved from the wall to sit beside the man at the fire. She crossed her legs and removed her mask. "My name is Lucatiel, I come from Mirrah; a land of knights, to this land in search of my brother," she turned to look at the man beside her. "Should you ever need my assistance, my blade is always ready, do not hesitate to call upon me," she finished her sentence with a small smile.

"I appreciate the gesture, Lucatiel, I plan to rest here a little while longer, I'm not in a rush, we could travel together for a while if you would like, I will require some help with this next area," he said while ladling himself some more tea.

"Of course; Rourke, was it?" she asked.

"Paladin Connor Rourke," he answered with a smile, "but yes, Rourke is fine."

The paladin waited a while longer before he stood from his place by the fire and picked up his satchel. After rummaging through it for a moment he produced a pair of binoculars. He returned the bag to the ground, walking deeper into the cavern as quietly as his armored boots would allow.

"Let's see what we're up against," he said as he crouched and looked through the binoculars into the darkness.

Lucatiel rose to her feet and followed. As she drew closer, she noticed the hilt of a dagger in the man's boot. The way he was kneeling made it easy for him to draw at a moment's notice. The Mirran took a mental note of the blade, and readied her hands to make draw for the sword on her back. She quickly planned a counter attack, should the need arise. The knightess approached the man with caution.

"See anything we can use?" she asked in a whisper.

"That depends," he replied "How good is your aim?"

He handed her the binoculars, and pointed to the ceiling. Following his finger, she discovered a large chandelier hovering overhead. He was right, if they could shoot an arrow covered in resin into the grating, there may still be enough oil to light a fire and illuminate the cave. A far greater idea than clambering around in the dark.

"I can make that shot," The swordswoman said with confidence.

The paladin nodded, walking back to the bonfire while Lucatiel remained on watch. He returned a few moments later with a large crossbow and a few bolts. The knightess took the weapon, tested the weight, and aimed at her target.

"We only have the three," He said, handing her one. "They're wood bolts, not designed for ignition, so light the tip just before you fire."

"Alright," she exhaled, "I'd better not miss then." She finished with a light chuckle.

Rourke smiled and put his helmet on. He turned his head to face the woman, and gave her a thumbs up. Lucatiel replaced her mask and loaded the bolt before returning the gesture. She shouldered the crossbow, and took aim. She briefly thought back to her days in Mirrah, and her training. She had to slow down, concentrate, she need not rush, she had all the time in the world. She banished the thoughts of those days long past, and focused on hitting her mark.

Steady hands.

Slow movements.

Breathe gently.

Lucatiel's mind raced, then cleared. The only things that existed now were her and the target. No cave, no Hollows, no strange paladin, no pressure. She slowly inhaled, then exhaled. She inhaled once more, held her breath, lit the bolt's head, and then fired. The bolt soared through the air, a few Hollows in the cave turned their heads to see where the bright orange streak would go. The two watched as the shot hit its mark, igniting the chandelier into a mass of red and yellow flames. Many Hollows roared in anger over the new light source. The smarter ones even looked back at to where the shot came from, and rushed to destroy it. One Hollow? Not a problem. Twenty? That could be a little more of a threat.

The holy knight sprang into action, he grabbed his comrade by the waist and threw her away from the assault. She landed on the cave floor, and when looked up at him their covered faces met for only a split second.

"Run!" He yelled. The Mirran jumped to her feet and sprinted towards the bonfire, looking back over her shoulder to see him take something from a pocket on his belt.

Rourke drew a small canvas talisman, his catalyst for holy miracles. ' _Always the hero, Connor you're a fool,'_ He thought to himself. He knelt down, whispered a short prayer under his breath, and waited for the right moment to finish the spell. The Hollows grew closer, the paladin held his ground and drew the dagger from his boot. One of the faster ones reached him before the rest of the horde. It gave a solid swing with its broken sword. The man dodged and countered with his knife. The remainder of the Hollows were now a few meters away. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself.

"Fear the Wrath of God!" the paladin slammed his fist onto the ground before him. A blinding flash of white and blue erupted from the ground around him, lightning bolts sprouted from nowhere and laid waste to the mindless undead within the magic's incredible range.

Lucatiel watched from behind cover she had found in the form of some columns a good ten meters back toward the bonfire. She saw the bright light, and the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention when a stray lightning bolt struck a little too close for comfort. She breathed a sigh of relief, glad she didn't argue with the man on whether or not she should fight. _'He's powerful, of that I am certain, but why was my safety his first priority?'_ The knightess asked herself.

She removed herself from the safety of the pillars and stepped lightly toward the paladin. Now visibly exhausted, he turned his head to greet her. He removed his helmet, and bent down trying to catch his breath.

"I hate using that, ne- never fails t-to," He paused to take more air onto his lungs. "Wear me out,"

Rourke stood straight and composed himself. He replaced his helmet, giving it a gentle twist to set it into place. Lucatiel was at a loss, the man before her stood in a shallow crater, she had seen nothing like this before, which of the gods would bless a mortal to wield such power? The closest any priest or cleric she had ever heard of couldn't hold a candle to the sun by comparison. She had heard of a miracle like this, _'It created a flash of light and caused significant damage to anything it touched, but Rourke's spell, quite effectively, reduced the enemy to ashes, not to mention the range'_. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed just how far this reached, she was lucky only one bolt nearly struck her.

"How did you do that?" she managed to say.

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a Paladin, what god gave you such power?" She was getting impatient, she did not like this game.

"That is a conversation for another time, for now I shall retrieve my supplies and we shall trek onward." He responded trying to avoid the question. He turned to walk back to the bonfire, he stopped when a familiar iron grip latched onto his left hand.

"Perhaps I'm not making myself clear," She sneered. "Answer me, or walk alone, Saint"

"I'm a Paladin, not a Saint," he responded, retrieving his arm.

The Mirran crossed her arms and waited. She was not going to give this man any slack. The paladin raised his hands in defeat, as much as he didn't want to have this conversation, he knew that someone watching his back was more important.

"Fine," he said. The holy knight walked back to the bonfire, grabbed his Claymore, his satchel and his kite shield, Lucatiel never falling more than a few steps behind.

"I'm not from this land of Drangleic," he said with a sigh "to be honest I don't remember the name of the land from which I hail."

His comrade was not satisfied, she wanted more and he knew this, so he continued, albeit slowly, as if not wanting to say too much.

"I neither serve nor worship the deities of this place, I never have,"

"Then how did you manage to summon such energy?" She gestured back to where they stood only a minute ago. "Are you a god?"

Rourke let out a laugh, short but genuine. He threw the sling of his satchel over his head so it rested on his left shoulder, then buckled the strap of his Claymore the opposite way so that it laid on his right. Taking shield in hand he walked over to her.

"No, m'lady, I am the tool of my Lord, not the hand." He answered, then gave another short laugh, "And I am most certainly not the Lord, Himself."

The Mirran still did not understand. Why would this knight's Lord give him such power? She wanted an explanation that made sense. Seeming to have read her thoughts, he reached into his satchel and retrieved a small book.

"Lucatiel, if I may, can you read?"

She looked up at him, not knowing how to answer. She did at one point in her life, but she did not know if it was an ability she had kept since coming to this place. He offered the book to her, she took it in hand, and opened it. The symbols on the page seemed familiar, but when she willed them to form words, she only saw gibberish.

"No…" She handed the book back, lowering her head in defeat. "Not anymore… such skills were lost to me when I was cursed…"

"Do not feel ashamed, my friend," Rourke placed the book safely back into the satchel. "I will teach you and in time you will have all the answers you are looking for"

Lucatiel's ears perked up, questions raced through her mind _'Why would he teach me? Why does he care?'_ she wondered _'and why call me friend when we met only a few hours ago?'_

"O-okay…" The only word she could manage.

"Good, now may we continue on our journey?" He raised his hand in the direction away from the bonfire.

She walked past him without another word, and remained silent for a few minutes as they crossed the docks their newfound light source revealed. Though they had plenty of light her companion lit a torch on one of the sconces, and proceeded to light all others he passed. Most of the Hollows in the area gave them a wide berth, some of the crazier ones tried to attack but none of which led to any significant amount of damage. The fallen undead seemed to dislike fire, Lucatiel concluded it must be the torch or the man holding it that scared them so. Walking up the staircases led to what seemed to be the remnants of a village long since dead. The pair came across a handful of creatures who possessed long razors for claws and disfigured bodies that had multiple sets of eyes and short legs. The real threat of them however, was their surprising reach. The monsters did not need to pounce as they could simply extend their arms, which seemed to be around six to eight feet long, to attack.

Rourke quickly discovered that these creatures were not afraid of light, but were harmed by it. The beasts would shield their eyes and hiss when they came into contact with the small pool radiating from the paladin's torch. This deterrent only lasted a few seconds before the dark beings would attack, light or no. So, the pair's main strategy for defeating them hinged on attacking from both sides while it was initially stunned by the fire's light.

The two finally reached a wooden platform at the edge of the cliff that looked over the water, a small lever being the only interesting thing there. Rourke looked back to his new friend who was currently guarding their rear flank. She turned around when he called to her, pointing at the strange switch. The woman nodded, the paladin returned the gesture then took hold of the handle with his free hand. He struggled for a moment, then managed to swing the contraption into the opposite position. For a few seconds, nothing happened. The two waited in silence, and a bell rang out above their heads. A ship, one gone unnoticed by the two knights, pulled slowly into the harbor. When the vessel settled in, a few torches seemed to light themselves with a bright blue flame.

"I suppose we know where to head next," Lucatiel said quietly.

"Of course it's a boat," Rourke said in an irritated tone. "It's _always_ a boat."

He let out a sigh, turned around, and proceeded to their new destination. The knightess wondered for a moment if the paladin had trouble with water, perhaps she would ask him later. For now she simply followed him as they made their way to the docks, helping to clear out what little resistance they had missed on the journey up.

He stepped onto the wooden planks, treading carefully but not as if he were afraid to fall in. The maiden remained ever vigilant watching for any sign of an ambush. While doing this, her eyes fell onto an old man who sat motionlessly on the platform above them. Lucatiel tapped Rourke's shoulder and pointed into the direction of the stranger. He nodded and eased his way up the staircase to where the old man sat.

"Excuse me, sir" the paladin did not let his guard down, "what are you doing out here?"

"Meditating, now, leave me be" the man responded.

"I was wondering-"

"If you wish to become my student, meet me in Majula, until then cease your talking and leave" the man interrupted.

Rourke clenched his fist and whispered "old prick," under his breath. He turned to his companion and gestured back to the boat. They left the man in silence.

The pair dispatched the enemies on the main deck, before proceeding below. The two inspected their surroundings, the lower deck was flooded knee deep with water, making maneuverability tough, there were also the same eerie blue torches lighting the room. They reached a large doorway, Rourke doused his torch in the water, and placed it back in its pouch. The warriors readied themselves, the paladin opened the door as swiftly as he could but, the water fought against him for every inch.

In a fraction of a second after he opened the door, Rourke found himself in the water, the breath knocked out of him. He rose to the surface to see what had happened, his only explanation, a massive figure of what looked like two tall men tied back to back at the waist, the only difference being that the two actually shared a single pair of legs. Lucatiel had already leaped into action the water barely seeming to hinder her agility. She danced around the creature slashing ruthlessly with her Mirran Greatsword.

The foe was proving difficult to defeat. For each warrior had their hands full with their own torso to fight. The beast was merciless, never relenting or giving them a chance to think. Lucatiel wielded her blade with finesse and dexterity unlike any other, while the raw force of Rourke's blows could cleave a normal man asunder, not including the blessing it held, which has brought some of the most powerful demons to their knees. The knightess frantically searched her mind for a plan, the beast had no back side, no blind spots except… except the space between the two bodies.

She shot her companion a glance, it seemed he had come to the same realization. The pair made no gesture of understanding but each knew the plan. The swordswoman waited for the creature to slam one of its giant clubs on her direction. When it attacked, she dodged out of the way, then placed her right boot on the club. Lucatiel dashed up the weapon, jumping as soon as she reached its shoulder, and grabbed onto one of the support beams that held the ceiling in place. Rourke dropped his shield, taking his sword in both hands, and began wildly swinging left and right at his foe, causing both forms to focus on his flurry of attacks.

She held tight to her position, this would only work once. She had to wait until she was directly over the blind spot. Rourke drew his talisman, and generated a bolt of lightning in his left hand. He threw the bolt into the water at the foot of his opponent, stunning the creature. Lucatiel dropped down from the rafters. She landed with one foot on a shoulder of each form, blade plunged into the back of the body under her left boot. When the other still showed promise of continuing the knightess drew the sword from its place and decapitated it without hesitation.

The dead enemy fell sideways, the Mirran followed with no grace whatsoever. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact of the cold water, except it did not come. She looked up to see the paladin had caught her. For only an instant, she could have sworn her face felt hot. She looked into the darkness of his helmet's eye sockets trying to find an answer. Why didn't he let her fall? It's just water. She would have been fine. The holy knight cleared his throat and let the woman down, not sure of what else to do.

"Goo- uh- good plan," he stammered "worked like a charm."

"Thank you," she responded looking away from him, silently thankful she wore the mask.

"I'm going to go get this thing moving," he said turning toward the ladder on the other side of the room.

"Alright," she said "I'll see if I can find… something…to… do…"

The two went their separate ways. Rourke to the navigation deck, while Lucatiel searched the captain's quarters. Not finding anything of interest, save for a bed, she leaned on the desk in the center of the room to think. Her mind still not certain of what had happened a few moments ago. She was dragged back to reality when the ship started to move. The farther the vessel traveled away from the docks, the more the water drained from the floors. Soon there was barely enough water to dampen the wooden surface. The woman shook her head slowly, Drangleic was a strange land indeed. She walked out onto the main deck, dawn slowly creeping over the horizon. She found the paladin on the port side, staring out at the sun rise.

"So, 'Captain' Rourke, where are we off to now?" She asked leaning against the railing beside him.

"To be completely honest, 'First-Mate' Lucatiel, I have no idea," he responded.

The knightess removed her mask and looked up at him, puzzled. It then came to her that no one was at the wheel. The paladin took of his helmet, a wide smile on his face. Lucatiel also noticed a hint of red to his cheeks.

"The ship steers itself," he finished "All I did was touch something shiny."

The knightess erupted in laughter. She knew he wasn't the sea fairing type. The woman felt at peace, if only for a moment. _'Connor Rourke, huh?'_ she thought to herself. She felt relaxed in his presence and even to her own surprise, she lowered her guard around him now.

"Well, Rourke, there's a bed in the captain's quarters if-" Lucatiel began.

"Hold on now, no need to rush things, at least let me cook you some dinner first," the man joked.

She took a second to register what he had meant. She quickly punched him in the arm and smiled, her face flushed cherry red. She turned away to walk back below deck, the paladin stared after her for a second before turning back to the sea. She looked over her shoulder at the last second. The smile had yet to leave his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Unnamed Ship**

Rourke sat in the galley, cutting his eyes back and forth between his map and the ship's star chart. He did not understand, the ship was making a very wide berth around… something but the man could find no records of what or why. This was strange, although he felt he should be used to these occurrences as most things in this land were. The holy knight sighed, he had gotten little sleep on this voyage so far and it seemed as if he would continue this trend for some time to come. Rourke set his pen on the table, and massaged his temples. His headache was interrupted by the sound of footsteps descending the stairs. He turned to his companion walking proudly into the room with two fish in each hand.

"So," Lucatiel began as she gathered the necessary tools to begin cooking "how long will we be out here?"

"Two weeks," the paladin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Maybe longer."

The woman stopped for a moment, absorbing the information. She continued to dress their meals, before joking about how they will need more fish.

"Also that gives you plenty of time to live up to your promise," she added, never turning away from her task at hand.

"Promise?" he questioned, walking over to the wood stove.

Rourke took some tinder, and laid it beneath a few small logs. He searched briefly for some matches, finding a small box nearby. After setting the flame, the paladin made his way over to the knightess, who was just finishing the preparations. She turned to the stove, and placed the fish on the grating above the flames. The paladin, still confused about his promise, opened his mouth to ask but closed it again when he remembered his 'promise' to teach her to read again. The man simply walked to the table he had previously been sitting, retrieved a pen, a few pieces of parchment, and also brought over his satchel. Lucatiel joined him at the table, pleased to see her friend had not forgotten.

"Alright," she started, "What's first?"

Rourke took the pen in his hand, carefully drawing a few symbols into the surface. Lucatiel watched intently, not wanting to miss a single detail.

"First, we will start with letters," the man glanced up at the woman sitting across from him. "Then we will proceed to words, sentences, and finally…"

Lucatiel looked up as he paused, curious as to why he stopped. Her companion was reaching into his bag, searching for something. After a few seconds he produced a book, the same one he had showed her in the caves. Rourke offered the book to her, she took hold of it with great care, not wanting to harm it. This book, this was her key, her purpose. She would strive to read it, and as she walked toward her goal, she would slowly force the curse from her being. She was told long ago, if an undead had a purpose, a reason to live, then their humanity would not fade as quickly as those who had no hope left.

"We will end with this." Rourke finished with a grin.

"Please, tell me, what is this?" Lucatiel asked trying to decipher the golden text on the front cover.

"The answer to all your questions," the paladin said "and the source of all my power."

Lucatiel's eyes darted up to meet those of her friend. She did not understand, why would he _willingly_ give this to her? The puzzled look on her face did not go unnoticed as the corners of his lips eased upward. His gesture explained far more than words could. He trusted her. He knew of her fears, and he is handing her the key to escaping them. He has given her a purpose. She couldn't wait to begin.

 **Ten days later**

Rourke was merciless! His methods produced results quickly, but never in her life did Lucatiel think learning to read would be so exhausting. After their lessons she felt as if she had ran from the western border of her homeland and did not stop until she reached the guards of the east. Her hand ached and her mind felt numb, if it still resided in her skull at all. She dropped the pen, and massaged her fingers in an attempt to soothe their incessant screams of pain. Her ears twitched slightly when she heard footsteps on their way to the galley. She quickly retrieved the pen and resumed her work. She didn't want to remember the agony of the first (and last) time Rourke had caught her shirking her studies. The paladin walked through the door behind the knightess, carrying the day's catch.

"Take a break, Lucatiel," he said, beginning to dress their next meal.

"Thank the Heavens," she sighed in relief, lowering her head.

Lucatiel rose from her seat, slowly working the cramps out her legs. She massaged her hands again. _'Ten days, how in the world?'_ she thought. Rourke washed his hands in a bucket not far from where he stood. The knight turned to his companion, who looked exhausted to say the least. He brushed some of the hair out of her face, placing it behind her ear.

"What did we learn today?" he asked returning to the fish.

"You're a sadist…" she responded weakly, with half a grin.

"Took you this long to figure that out?" He laughed.

After he finished dressing the fish, the holy knight walked over to the table where the Mirran had been working. His eyes carefully examined the pages his comrade wrote on. The knightess immediately felt the urge to run, although she did not know where, the last time her work was studied so closely she was punished for not taking the matter seriously. Something she did not want to happen ever again. The woman almost flinched as her friend turned to face her.

"I'm proud of you, I've never seen anyone progress this quickly" A callous hand rested on Lucatiel's shoulder.

The knightess stood still not knowing how to respond, had she really completed Rourke's teachings? She opened her mouth to speak but no words came to her.

"Yes, you are done…for now"

"So I may, now read your book?"

"Of course" A wide grin plastered on the man's face.

The paladin retrieved the object from his satchel and handed it to his student. The woman felt as if she were a child again, receiving a gift from her father. The knightess calmed herself and took a seat.

'The first book of Moses,' she read aloud. 'Commonly called _Genesis_.'

'In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth,' Rourke quoted.

The Mirran looked into her companions eyes, she couldn't believe it… she can read again! Her chest felt tight, and her mind felt free. A powerful emotion washed over the undead woman… Hope. An emotion she thought to have abandoned her long ago. ' _This curse shan't take hold of me, not yet,'_ she thought with pride.

 **Majula**

With their Sea-faring behind them the two found themselves in a dark, strange, dungeon-like area. After discussing their situation they decided to return to this location later. The knights found a bonfire and use its transportation magic to travel to Majula, the village Rourke now called home. Upon their arrival, the paladin removed his satchel and Claymore, resting both softly on the ground. A small woman, the Emerald Herald, approached him her hands clasped together behind her thin frame.

"Bearer of the Curse, how fares your journey?"

"Rather well, given the circumstances, I've even found a companion" the knight gestured to his friend, who has found a seat beside the bonfire they recently emerged from, her face hidden behind the pages of the book in her hands.

"I see,"

"She hasn't put it down since I gave it to her," a short laugh emerged from his throat.

"From what I hear, you have also found new company for Majula,"

"Have I?"

The woman pointed toward the cliff, Rourke followed her finger to see an old man sitting, quietly as if in a trance.

"Would you look at that, the old prick made it" he said.

With a chuckle, the woman turned away, to return to the stone she sat on. The knight truly had no idea how she kept herself occupied, not many things happen in Majula.

"Herald," he called after her.

"Yes?"

"Why do you put so much of your faith in me?"

"Aside from the fact there is no other, I know you Connor, whether you like it or not this is who you are, and this is who you will always be"

The paladin let out a long sigh, unhappy with the answer. He walked close to the woman and looked out over the sea. Images of his past filled his mind, the people he left behind, the happiness he once had. He fought to keep a stoic expression on his face, but did not win this battle as a tear crept down his cheek.

"Can I never escape this? Can I never live in peace or be happy?"

"Does your God not say He has a purpose for everyone?"

"He does…"

"Then why would He betray you? Give you a purpose you could not meet?"

"He wouldn't…"

"If I may speak frankly Connor, your faith in your Lord baffles me,"

"How so?"

"Even with all this death, sorrow, famine, and plague, never once have I seen you lose hope in your Lord, perhaps you are the warrior this world needs"

"I don't see how I'm different"

"You are different because you believe that one day you will truly help these undead, you do not fight for petty things such as glory or honor or souls. You fight because this was a task given to you by the God of your faith, and even in knowing that it may not be the faith of others, you carry on _for_ _them_ "

The holy knight smiled, feeling somewhat reassured by the Emerald Herald's words.

'Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying "Whom shall I send? And who will go for Us?" And I said "Here am I. Send Me." ' Rourke took in a slow breath then turned toward the bonfire. "The Book of Isaiah; Chapter Six"

"That is beautiful,"

"Thank you, Herald; I think I will rest now"

The knight walked to the bonfire, where his companion still sat. The Herald truly felt sorry for the old paladin, though she could never understand the pain he has went through.

Lucatiel buried herself in her reading, more so than she initially believed she would, but as she progressed farther into its pages she began to slow in her binges. She wanted to pace herself so she did not finish the book too soon. As she reached a stopping point, placed a feather between the pages to mark her spot. The knightess turned her attention to the man sitting a few feet from her.

"Is something wrong, Rourke?" She asked moving closer to her companion.

"No, I'm just having difficulty with my undeath," he replied as he placed their Estus Flask into the flames of the bonfire so that it may replenish itself.

"As do we all, my friend…"

"I know; I simply grow tired of this half living, I've been around quite a while,"

"How long is 'a while'?"

"I… don't remember," he said with a smile.

"Then it must be some time indeed!" she chuckled.

The pair grew silent for a moment, although the overall mood did begin to lighten. The paladin soon removed his armor, in an attempt to get more comfortable, not to mention the suit was in much need of repair. The Mirran did the same, both took their apparel to Lenigrast and bartered for the required services. As they left the shop, Rourke mentioned the house at the center of town, saying he had occupied it and that Lucatiel is more than welcome to stay there.

"Would you not want to sleep there yourself?"

"You had the last night shift on the boat, remember? You deserve the rest"

"I'm not tired, but if you're going to stay awake, perhaps you may tell me something?"

The two returned to the bonfire, each taking a seat with in its warmth. The knightess shifted for a moment trying to collect her thoughts. The paladin waited patiently, wondering what his companion want him to say.

"What do you remember? Of your time before you cursed?"

"More than I'd like to," he said after a short pause.

Lucatiel was shocked by his answer, most of the undead she had met wished they could recall their time as a human.

"Why?"

"I've left many people behind, people I cared for more than life itself, now here I am stuck with life and none of the reasons I wanted to live" A solemn look covered the cursed man's face

"I understand your pain."

"I don't care to remember times from when I was human, or when I was a younger undead,"

"What a horrible curse we bear…" she said quietly, the woman pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She wasn't cold, but a chill ran up her spine as she thought of her family.

"I believe that is why I am called The Bearer of the Curse," the man let out a dry laugh.

"Tell me your tale,"

The paladin's head snapped up, he surprised by her statement, although it sounded more like a demand.

"What for?"

"I told you my past, do I not deserve to hear yours?"

"You told me the name of your homeland, that's hardly 'your past',"

"There's nothing else to tell, I was a soldier, now I'm an undead, I would rather hear about your adventures,"

"And I would rather hear your adventures as a soldier, you must've had a family, some suiters, or some great victories you'd enjoy to recall,"

Lucatiel pursed her lips, she imagined this conversation going much simpler. The holy knight rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, understanding his friend's frustration. The man looked up, into the eyes of his comrade.

"No…"

"I only wish to-"

Before she could finish the knight across from her rose to his feet, retrieved his sword and walked away from the area. The Emerald Herald, who had been watching nearby, moved slowly toward the only figure remaining at the bonfire. She spoke softly, as she always did, but her words did not carry any less weight.

"You must understand, Rourke has suffered far more than most,"

"You know about his past life?"

"Almost all undead know his story, or at least part of it, even you"

"How are you certain of this?"

"Have you heard of the Demon Slayer? Or the Chosen Undead?"

The swordswoman thought for a moment digging into her memories, trying to recall these names. She shifted where she sat, resting her chin in her palm. She remembered now, they were stories, her brother used to tell them around campfires when they were children. The Mirran told the Herald of her recollection. The woman took a seat beside the other, and lowered her emerald green hood to reveal dark brown locks. She nodded and smiled at the knightess.

"Connor, in his youth,"

A feeling of dread washed over Lucatiel, she could not imagine such an existence. The trials and hardships he must have faced… She had never seen a demon much less heard of someone who had killed one, and the Chosen Undead… If she recalled correctly the Chosen Undead killed a being that called itself a god.

"How did he survive? Why did he not hollow?" The Mirran woman asked, inching closer to the other in the green cloak.

The Herald gave a short, angelic laugh.

"How do you think? A woman," She responded with a smile "two, in fact."

"A woman…"

"Yes, Rourke has married twice, once when slayed the four Arch-demons, to a witch named Yuria"

Lucatiel waited on baited breath she wanted to hear more of her companion's past, she wanted to know everything. The Emerald Herald saw this and only nodded, continuing with what she was saying.

"And the other, a Priestess named Reah, when he was the Chosen Undead" The Herald smiled as she looked to see the face of the knightess. "You see, Connor has survived this long because he does not concern himself with souls"

"But… I was lead to believe souls were the only thing truly kept an undead from Hollowing,"

"No… the undead only need a purpose," the Herald explained. "Connor has always told himself that one day he will have fought hard enough so that he will finally have peace,"

"Peace… That is all?"

"That is all,"

"Continue Herald, please"

"Have you not heard these tales before?"

"Yes, yes but please tell me the true tales,"

The Herald released another angelic ring, like small bells swinging in a breeze.

"Alright, but rest assured these are not happy tales, and I know nothing from when he was a human, _that_ you will have to learn by other means" She said, looking in the direction Rourke left. The knightess remained silent, understanding what the Herald meant.

The paladin walked until he reached a forest of giant trees, so far there was little sense of danger. Only a few Hollows stood in his path, for as long as they lasted. He did feel exposed without his armor, but that did not matter at the moment. The knight needed to clear his head, needed to lead his mind away from thoughts of time long since passed.

He did not return to Majula for some time, and a few days after the Emerald Herald finished the tale, the knightess left in search of her brother. From what she learned, Lucatiel did not blame her friend for not wanting to speak of the past. She would have to apologize for prying when they crossed paths again.

 **Lost Bastille**

Lucatiel leaned against the wall inside the tower, she closed her eyes and focused her energy on remembering her past, simple things seemed to be slipping through her grasp. She hated this feeling more than anything, even more than the deaths that lead her here. She tried to force the memories to reveal themselves to no avail. So consumed by her own thoughts she did not notice a familiar face enter the tower from the door only a few feet in front of her. Rourke eased his way into the room not wanting to disturb his friend he had left at Majula not long ago. He raised the torch he held in his left hand to light the sconce before him.

"Lucatiel, it's good to see you again" the man said quietly, his voice hoarse.

"Likewise, are you alright?" She asked, in a concerned tone.

The paladin sat beside her, visibly exhausted, and shaking violently from his battle he finished only a few minutes ago. He removed his helmet as the knightess lowered herself to sit beside him and retrieved his Estus flask from his side pouch. He fumbled with the lid for a moment before the Mirran took the flask from his hand, and opened it.

"Lean your head back," She demanded, raising the flask to his lips.

"I'm not a child-"

"Lean back!" Lucatiel pressed her empty hand against his forehead and forced his head backward. She raised the flask again, and poured the glowing liquid into his mouth before he could say anything else.

Rourke drank, not that he had much choice otherwise. After a few gulps he signaled to his friend he'd had enough. She removed the container from his lips and replaced the cap. After handing the Estus back she asked what his newest adventure held for him. He responded by telling a story of being stalked by a relentless predator called The Pursuer, a hunter said to never rest, not even in death, until his prey falls. The paladin's injuries from this battle were nothing major, save from the blood loss that gave him the shakes. Nothing Estus couldn't fix. The two sat for a while longer, allowing the knight to recuperate. After an hour or so he suggested they find a bonfire, so they would be safe enough to sleep. His companion hesitantly agreed, she wasn't completely sure he was ready to venture out. From what the Herald has told her, he has nearly killed himself many times by acting as if he was fit to continue when he was not.

"I'm fine, Lucatiel" Rourke protested as he reached for his Estus again.

"You haven't changed a bit, just don't get us killed because you're stubborn" she said with a grin.

The paladin finished the last of his Estus and stood up. He collected his claymore, talisman and other supplies. Before he could don them, his companion insisted she carried half the equipment to ease his trek to the next resting spot. She grabbed the satchel from his hand and placed it on her shoulder. The man grumbled something about being 'perfectly capable,' which she ignored. As the pair stepped out of the tower onto a stone walkway they were met by a menacing figure wrapped in bandages wielding a pole arm, a Jailor.

With a quick look and a nod the two sprang into action, the knightess drew her blade, while the paladin reached for his talisman. He whispered a prayer then hurled a massive javelin of lightning at his target knocking the creature off balance. The Jailor roared in pain, and swung its blade in a frenzy. The swordswoman dodged the attack with ease, by ducking under the monster's arm. She slashed into its ribs twice with her greatsword, then side stepped to the left, getting fully behind the beast. She raised her leg, aimed for the small of the creature's back and kicked out with all of her might, toppling the hulking thing over the edge of the walkway. She turned back to the paladin with a triumphant grin, not noticing the weapon. In a final attempt to take someone with him the Jailor swung his pole arm back over the edge, hooking the blade directly into Lucatiel's side…

Rourke didn't hesitate, he sprinted to his companion and pried the weapon from her side. The wound was deep but fortunately didn't seem to puncture any internal organs and nothing had broken off inside. The only other concern the knight had was poison. He quickly removed his coat and wrapped it tightly around the wound to slow the bleeding. He carefully placed his left arm behind her shoulders and his right beneath her knees. Moving as gently as possible he raised the woman off of the ground.

"Hold on," he said calmly "we have to be close to a bonfire, I'll patch you up there"

"Oh no need to rush, take your time," she groaned through clenched teeth, and blood.

"Shut up,"

The knight flew down the walkway, with his companion in his arms. Quickly scanning his environment he saw the path to the bonfire was blocked by a crumbling stone wall at the bottom of the stairs he had reached. He found a black powder barrel and kicked it down the flight of stairs. The barrel rolled with such speed the impact caused a small explosion, destroying the wall in his path. A quick glance behind him showed plenty of enemies heard his entrance. He charged for the bonfire, barely making it to the sanctuary before the creatures caught up to him.

Lucatiel woke up lying on a makeshift cot composed of old clothes and straw. Her head was resting on Rourke's lap. Her companion was fast asleep, his breath slow and steady. Her senses were slowly coming back to her and she soon felt cold. She lifted her head to take in her surroundings, she was at a bonfire. The only thing she found completely out of the ordinary was her vest and tunic had been removed, and her chest was covered by bandages freshly coated in what she deduced to be her own blood.

"Good morning, m'lady," a voice behind her whispered. The knightess turned to see her friend wide awake, as if he had been waiting for her to stir this whole time.

"Good morning" she responded, pulling the raggedy blanket up to cover herself.

The paladin removed his friend's head from his lap and placed it on a pillow then shifted himself closer to the fire. She mumbled something about being fine, but her comment fell on deaf ears as it often did when their positions were reversed. Rourke reached into the flame to retrieve the Estus flask. The healing draught would speed the recovery process but there is limits, a few sips could not restore a person to health from wound of this magnitude. It did have other uses, with direct application the Estus would act as a cleaning agent, which is what he was counting on now.

"Time to change your wrappings, and we have to stitch that up before it tears," he said in a serious tone.

"Do we now? Or are you just making an excuse to get my shirt off?" she asked with a forced laugh, as she was still in immense pain.

"Your shirt is already off, I just need to remove the bandages now," Rourke joked and retrieved more cloth wrap from his pack. "Unless, of course, you _want_ that to get infected,"

"Ah, yes; the so called 'benefits' of undeath, famine, plague and infection still harm us, only we do not remain dead afterward"

"It's not a pleasant way to go, trust me"

Lucatiel laid back onto the cot, and allowed he friend to change the bandages. By the time the soiled cloth was removed he quickly focused his attention on the wound, although his eyes did wander… once or twice. The knightess caught him the first time, and gave him a look, but she would never admit, even in such circumstances, she didn't mind the attention. Half of the men in Mirrah despised her simply because of her family's low class and the others were disgusted by her undeath, neither group gave her a second look on any occasion. She snapped from her thuoghts when the paladin let out a sigh.

"What's wrong?" Lucatiel asked, craning her head. The man quickly pressed it back down onto the pillow.

"The blade, as I feared, was covered in… something, an infection has started to set in, but it's only minor so the Estus should keep it from spreading," he took the jade flask in hand, and unscrewed the lid. "Bite into something,"

"Pardon?"

Rourke pulled the wound open with the blade of his dagger, causing her to roar in pain. She quickly bit down into the blanket to muffle the noise. He worked as quickly as possible, when the wound was open wide enough he poured some of the Estus into the bloody mess, followed by a few herbs. He closed the wound, then pinched a small amount of skin between his fingers. With his free hand, he retrieved a curved needle connected to a thick black thread.

"Ready?" he asked.

Before she could respond he began stitching, causing her to scream into the blanket once more and writhe in place. It was an agonizingly slow process as he had to concentrate, to make sure he also reconnected the muscle tissue. When he finished the job he inspected it, mopped up the excess blood with a rag and splashed a bit more of the Estus to disinfect the surrounding area of her flesh. With fresh wrappings now in place he told his friend to rest. She protested briefly but decided actual sleep would be nice, she replaced her head onto Rourke's lap and drifted off.

The holy knight waited a few moments after Lucatiel closed her eyes to think, as if he were afraid she would read his mind, _'Damn it, I can't do this… not again…'_ Rourke looked down at the woman, and found his fingers combing through her hair. He let out a long sigh, then forced himself to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Boletaria- A Land Long Since Passed**

A young woman laid motionless on the floor of a castle tower. She had been trapped in this damnable room for days, it could have been longer but she did not care. For the first few hours of her incarceration she had tried to remove the bindings on her legs only to find that the more she moved the tighter they gripped. What made matters worse, when she first touched them, hundreds of tiny barbs grew from the cursed wire, and only dug deeper as she struggled. Eventually she simply retreated into a corner and wept. At one point she began to entertain delusions of rescue. When she was a girl, her mother often told stories of a knight in shining armor coming to save the fair maiden from the treacherous villain. The only problem was she was not a princess, nor some innocent damsel. She was a witch, an enchantress proficient in dark magic, and there wasn't a knight alive who would risk his skin for the likes of her.

The sorceress flinched when she heard the deep, throaty laugh of her captor, a vile man who sold his soul to a demon for power. That disgusting creature was undoubtedly returning to run his hands where they are not wanted… again. She wanted to run, to hide, to do anything besides sit there and cry.

But she couldn't…

The door opened, the woman closed her eyes and did what she had never tried before… she prayed… to anyone who would care enough to listen to her silent pleas.

She waited for what felt like an eternity before she dared to look up at the brute. Except he was not there, in his place stood a tall, dark haired man carrying a Claymore on his back. The man doffed his weapon, placing it and his shield on the floor, before kneeling next to her. She didn't believe her eyes, she willed her mouth to speak but words would not form. She slowly reached out with one hand, thinking if she moved too quickly the figure would vanish. Instead he took her hand and placed it on his cheek. He was real.

"I'm Rourke," he said quietly.

"Yuria…" she mustered. The young witch looked into his eyes, wanting nothing more than to trust this mysterious man to take her away from this hellish place.

"I'm here to help you," he reached for the dagger on his belt.

Her eyes finally took in the details of his form. From the sight of his armor alone he looked as if he had fought a war to get here, and his face was covered in black demon blood.

"B-but I'm a witch, why would a knight save me?"

He sliced the bindings, and removed them from her body, careful not to let his fingers touch her skin.

"I'm a Paladin," he smiled. She turned her head slightly to the side and raised one eyebrow.

"I- don't…" she trailed off, not knowing how to respond.

"I am a soldier of God and, like God, I do not believe in coincidence" he looked down at the torn flesh of her legs and frowned. The woman remained silent.

"Which means no matter how arbituary my arrival may seem I found you here for a reason, and now your safety is my priority," he continued.

He replaced the dagger and produced his talisman. The holy man whispered a short prayer, then hovered his hand just above the wounds. A warmth unlike anything she had felt in a long time washed over Yuria's body and when she looked down the blood was gone and her wounds were half their original size. Rourke let out a shaky chuckle.

"I wish I could do more now, but healing isn't my specialty" he said, "Come here, we're going to have to get you to the Nexus"

"The Nexus?" she asked as she laced her arms around his neck. He stood straight and gently cradled the woman in his arms.

"Yes, it's difficult to explain but in short it's my home, you'll be safe there" he grinned.

The sorceress couldn't believe this was happening, it all felt so surreal. A _paladin_ came to _her_ rescue. He smelled of sweat, and steel. He was covered in scars and drenched in blood. But at that moment he was perfect, the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. And his armor didn't even have to shine for her to know it.

 **Lost Bastille**

Rourke woke with a start, the woman resting on his lap opened her eyes and looked up at him. She watched as he scanned the area, his hand only a few inches from his dagger. After a few moments he eased back into a comfortable position.

"Did you hear something?" Lucatiel asked as she sat up.

"No… I guess not" he replied.

He let out a sigh, and mumbled something about more sleep. The knightess simply chuckled to herself.

"Is the great and powerful Conner Rourke scared of bad dreams?" she teased. He shot her a dirty look, but softened quickly.

"When you've been around as long as I have, you have plenty good reason to be" he beamed.

The swordswoman looked away from her companion, her expression growing somber. She reached into the flames of the bonfire and removed a few items. The paladin on the other hand stood and walked over to the exit of the bonfire's room.

"I'm sorry," his ear twitched at the words. He turned to look back at their source who still refused to make eye contact with him.

"For what?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against a nearby wall.

"Prying about your past, I hope I haven't been too terribly intrusive,"

"Don't worry, I understand, and I will tell you in time, though from what I hear the Emerald Herald has already said a great deal," he replied while gathering his weapon and some supplies.

"Well I- I mean– she only told me about… some…things" she babbled, visibly flustered.

"Uh-huh, well I'm going to scout ahead to see if there's anything interesting." He handed his friend a crossbow and a pouch full of bolts, then left the safe area.

Rourke returned some hours later, with a disappointed air about him. Lucatiel however had been productive with her time and prepared a meal. The knightess had roasted some meat over the bonfire's flame. The paladin sat beside his companion then laid his head in her lap.

"M'lady, your champion has returned, feed him" he joked with a quick clap of his hands. The paladin opened his mouth and closed his eyes as if he was expecting to be fed. He waited a few seconds before peeking at his companion. He was met with a glare that was… unpleasant to say the least. The swordswoman quickly softened, and took some of the meat off of the spit and held it above him.

"Would you like a taste?" she taunted.

"Of course" he craned his neck up to reach the morsel, but didn't get any closer. Lucatiel lifted the bite away from his lips as he tried for it, and placed it her own mouth.

"How unfortunate," she laughed. The knight sat up and smiled, mumbling about how his friend was cruel.

"So what have we to eat tonight?" he said slicing a little of the meat from the bone.

"Dog" she replied with a smile.

"Well I must say," he said sitting beside her, "I've eaten many strange things, but dog has yet to be one of them, I suppose this was harvested from those fiendish mutts that prowl around this area"

"Yes it was, what strange things have you eaten?"

"Once, when I served in the Legion, my captain demanded our opponents dismount their horses and walk back to their king in shame"

"You ate horses?" she asked, turning to look at him.

"Yes we did, there had been no food for our army for almost a week, and we were starving"

"How was it?"

"Awful" he laughed. "I must say Lucatiel you are quite the cook, where did you learn?"

"My time in the army, food rations usually consisted of stale bread and the occasional fruit, so we made due with what had and what we could hunt,"

The two sat in silence the only noise to be heard came from the rhythmic hammering of the blacksmith MacDuff nearby. Rourke simply waded through his thoughts, waiting for something to say or be said. Lucatiel looked around the area and tried to distract herself. She hated feeling helpless and with this wound in her side still some time from being completely healed. The knightess placed her hand on the bandages that were fastened against the stitches. Her companion spoke up, bringing her back to the present.

"Lucatiel," he said, his voice deathly serious. "What happened to your eye?"

The swordswoman raised her hand and covered her left eye, which she had wrapped in cloth while the paladin was away. She had hoped he would not notice, but it seems he had.

"Oh, nothing," she responded uneasily, unable to come up with an excuse.

The paladin's unimpressed face showed her he did not like the answer. He crawled closer to her and reached for the patch. The Mirran pulled away, not wanting to show her friend the disgrace she hid. The pair wrestled around for a bit fighting over the piece of fabric, only to be stopped by a rather angry looking smith roaring at them to make less noise. He walked to the door of the shop to find the wounded woman on her knees straddling the paladin he had met some time before, both quarreling over something he found stupid.

"Stay…Quiet…" he breathed, "You'll scare the flame…"

The pair stopped and looked at the gruff looking man, "Sorry…?" they responded in unison as he walked back into the stone building. Using the distraction of the smith the knight grabbed the cloth and pulled it from her face, revealing what she had not wanted her friend to see… A murky blue orb surrounded by darkened flesh.

"Damn it, Rourke!" she said as loud as she dared, slamming a fist against his chest.

The paladin cursed himself for not noticing earlier, his friend was hollowing and he had not paid enough attention to help. He rested his head back against the ground, and let his arms fall limp. The Mirran covered the left side of her face, glaring down at her companion. The knight reached for a pocket on his belt, retrieving a small figure which seemed to be crafted from roots woven together. He handed the item to his friend, who stared at it with curiosity.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"They never told you?" he asked rubbing his temples.

"I've seen something like this before," she answered, "But no one has told me what it is"

"Crush it, and hold the ashes against your eye," he commanded.

Lucatiel nodded and did as she was instructed. When she squeezed the tiny thing in her palm it burst into a black flame. At first, she was shocked, not understanding what had happened. She glanced down at the paladin who simply nodded and nudged her hand toward her face. The knightess inhaled deeply and pressed the black sprite against her afflicted eye. A feeling of warmth rushed over her body, from the tips of her fingers to the bottoms of her feet, even her hair felt like it was touched this strange magic. She did not move for a few moments, but it wasn't long until she noticed her vision had been restored.

"It's called a Human Effigy," her friend broke the silence, "It is used to restore an undead to human form"

"H-how long does it last?"

"Until you die…" he produced a mirror from his person and handed it to her.

The swordswoman looked at her features, the color in her skin had returned and the darkened flesh had been healed. A tear slid down her face. She couldn't believe it, she had been convinced hollowing was irreversible. She remembered everything, her parents, her brother, her service, almost every memory that had faded made its way back into her mind. The paladin rose to his elbows and opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by Lucatiel throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him.

"Thank you…" she whimpered "There is still so much of the damned curse I do not know."

"You're welcome" he responded, placing a hand on the small of her back, returning the hug.

Rourke waited for his companion to calm down, which only took a minute or two, before he reminded her of the position they were in. The Mirran immediately sprang to her feet and tried to explain or apologize, her face a deep red. The holy knight simply stood and flashed a grin.

"Check your side," he laughed, trying to draw attention away from his own flushed cheeks.

The knightess looked down and undid the wrappings while her friend searched for a shirt she could wear. To her surprise the wound had healed and if the stitches were removed no one would have been able to tell she had been harmed at all. With a cut, a tug, and a sip of Estus Lucatiel was back to peak combat condition. She removed the bandages completely and donned the shirt the paladin allowed her to borrow as hers was still in a severe state of disrepair. She gathered her equipment, and put on her hat.

"So, what's next?" she asked, eager to get back into action.

"What's next?" he echoed, and wrapped his arm on her shoulders. He led his companion out of the bonfire's hiding place and pointed to a tower in the distance. "Our greatest challenge to conquer yet."

"And conquer it we shall" she grinned.

 **Sinner's Rise**

The pair of warriors crept toward the bridge that led to their target. The paladin stopped and sighed.

"I truly _loathe_ water," he groaned to himself as he gazed into the depths. He stepped lightly out onto the stone pathway as if to test its ability to hold him.

When he was somewhat sure of its stability the knight gingerly slid his feet forward, not wanting to take them off of the ground. Lucatiel followed her companion casually, not sharing in his distaste for the lake. She crossed her arms, and smiled beneath her mask.

"Not a strong swimmer, Connor?" she asked leaning in closer to him.

"We all have our faults, my dear," he responded, never taking his eyes off of the stone beneath him.

"Would you like me to teach you?" she teased, trying to stifle a giggle.

"There will be time for flirting later, but for now- _please_ … This is not easy for me…"

The knightess fell silent but did not lose her smile. ' _Flirting, hm?'_ she thought. When the companions reached the end of the bridge, the paladin released his held breath. He examined their surroundings, a large door with a staircase on either side. Lucatiel stood beside her friend, and removed her mask.

"Well, I see no reason to stall any longer, shall we?" Rourke said placing his hands on the large door.

"Wait a moment," the Mirran commanded, "what about these side paths?"

"What about them?"

"Let's see what secrets they hide" she proposed, "by the looks of that door, our foe does not seem to be leaving anytime soon."

The pair approached one of the metal doors. From what they could see there was not much to be found inside. Rourke kneeled beside the lock and studied it. The mechanism seemed simple, but solid and unfortunately he did not have the key. The paladin turned to his companion and opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a short grunt as his friend kicked out toward the door. The door swung open, the lock broken into pieces.

"How did you…" he trailed off.

"Iron degrades rather quickly in these conditions" she said, taking a few steps inside.

"Anything of interest?"

The knightess looked around for a moment in the dark, searching for something to use. The holy knight followed her in, and lit a torch to brighten up the room. The swordswoman's attention focused on a small bowl connected to a hole in the wall. She placed her hand into it, to see what it contained. A thick black soup stuck to her fingertips. She took a whiff and massaged the strange fluid into her leather gloves. ' _Oil?'_ she thought. She reached back to her companion and asked for the torch. She placed the flame into the bowl and watched as her theory proved correct. The dark liquid quickly set ablaze, and fire rush into the hole out of sight.

"Well then," the paladin exclaimed, "I suppose we should check the other room as well"

The Mirran only smiled, replacing her mask. The second room proved to contain the same contents as the first, so after repeating their actions another trail of light flowed into the wall before them. Unsure of anything else to do the two made their way to the large center door. They both took a deep breath, trying to prepare themselves for the foe that awaited them.

The door creaked shut, and a heavy silence fell over the arena. A tall lanky figure turned to face them from the other side of the massive room. It reached for a menacing sword, and gripped it tightly in its shackled hands. The creature roared with a mix of pain and rage as it slashed the air, causing the chandelier above to be extinguished. The room would have been pitch black if not for the two lanterns Lucatiel had unknowingly lit from the adjacent rooms. The prisoner dashed toward the pair, slicing at them with all its might. The two undead dodged just in time, barely escaping the cursed blade. Rourke lunged at the enemy, missing by only a few inches as it leapt back from his holy Claymore. The knightess slashed at the creature, hitting it in the side. It staggered for only a second before unleashing an unrelenting barrage on the Mirran, who blocked and dodged as quickly as her body would allow.

The paladin dove into the fray once more, attempting to cut the monster across the back and arm. He came to the unfortunate conclusion that he would be unable to damage this foe, he was not fast enough to harm it; it was far too agile. He stopped only for a moment, placing a silver ring, with a red ruby that resembled an eye, on his finger. With its dark magic in effect it would be easier to draw the beast's attention away from Lucatiel. The knight shouted, and rapped his sword and shield together. His plan played out better than he had hoped as their adversary trained its focus on him, allowing the swordswoman to attack from all directions. She landed a steady stream of blows to the prisoner, none of which were particularly crippling but were effective nonetheless.

The method worked quite well until the creature turned on its heel and clashed swords with the Mirran. The sheer force behind the attack shattered Lucatiel's blade before she had the chance to raise her shield. The knightess was thrown onto her back, and in an instant the beast was on her. She rolled this way and that, trying to stay ahead of what she knew would be a killing blow should one land. It raised its sword high above its head, only to be stopped by a bolt of lightning. The creature howled, and turned to see its attacker. Rourke, who had thrown down his shield to grab his talisman, stood there defenseless.

Lucatiel watched on horror as their foe charged the paladin, who had attempted to dive out of the way. Time slowed for the swordswoman, the monster's cursed blade sliced clean through the holy knight's right arm and leg, parting both limbs from his body. He fell to the ground, and released a cry of agony as blood sprayed from his mutilated knee and elbow.

But the beast did not stop there, it stabbed its unholy weapon into its victim's chest and proceeded to beat the man with its bare fists. The Mirran's eyes widened, and her body flinched. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to run away, to escape, but her heart held her in place. She knew she had to help Rourke. She scanned the battlefield, searching for something of use. Her greatsword was broken, and her companion's claymore was nowhere to be found. Her gaze soon locked onto what was by all accounts a miracle in disguise. Tucked inside the boot of the paladin's severed leg… was his dagger.

The knightess made a mad dash for the tiny blade, and drew it from its place. The murderous creature, who continued to hammer down on the knight, did not notice. Lucatiel sprinted for her target with inhuman speed. She pushed off the floor and flew into the air. An animalistic roar erupted from her throat. She reared back, took aim, and with all her strength she buried the weapon hilt deep into the back of her enemy's skull.

The dead beast fell to its knees then faded into a cloud of ash. The Mirran threw her mask off and rushed to her motionless friend, unsure of what she would do when she reached him. She dropped to her knees, and stared at the holy man as she carefully removed his helmet. His breathing was slow, labored, and when he exhaled blood flowed past his lips. Her chest shook and a chill ran up her spine as a thought entered her mind.

' _What if he doesn't return to life? Or worse… he comes back a Hollow?'_

She tried to banish such an idea as she rested her companion's head on her lap and took hold of his remaining hand. Tears streamed down her cheeks uncontrollably. She squeezed his fingers, still not sure of what else to do.

He placed her hand on his chest and reached up to her, brushing some hair from her face, trying to place it behind her ear. He showed a weak, bloodstained smile and opened his mouth in an attempt to speak.

The light faded from his eyes and his hand fell limp…

* * *

 **Sorry to say this isn't a legitimate update, I'm still swamped by college stuffs... I am working on the next chapter I promise and I'll try to have it out soon.**

 **I appreciate your patience with me, I know this is irritating.**

 **Thanks again, Josh**


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